


Stay (away) Still

by Dragonpie



Series: Reader Fics [3]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Frottage, Heavy Petting, M/M, Porn With Plot, Power Dynamics, Present Tense, Riding, Second Person Perspective, Size Difference, Smut, Topping from the Bottom, and the return of our hero, big dick dyn, but just vaguely - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:55:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25748506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonpie/pseuds/Dragonpie
Summary: The Mandalorian has been on your mind day in and out since his last visit. A deep, unsettling hunger burned throughout your body during cold nights – kept warm only on the fumes of fleeting memories. You mourned the chance to push the boundaries and break limits – a little harmless fun while fun was still harmless. But when he left early the following morning you hoped to never see him again.Once was an accident. Twice could be brushed off as coincidence. But three times made a habit and to this day you’ve never seen a man break the habit of wanting you.A smutty reader fic that puts you in the driver seat of this male driven vehicle. part of a series, but can be read as a stand-alone
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader
Series: Reader Fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816252
Comments: 2
Kudos: 92





	Stay (away) Still

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mochaaaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochaaaa/gifts).



> Hello to everyone who has decided to click on this fic, and thank you for the continued support.  
> this is something i have written for a very dear friend of mine, but if it is something you are able to appreciate and get enjoyment out of, then consider if as having also been written for you.
> 
> TYPOS: i am running on an empty tank at the moment and expect there to be more typos than usual

The summer sun stretches wide across the horizon, but barely breaks through the canopy of leaves above your head. The woods that surround your aunt’s inn carry a constant breeze – rarely do you ever get a taste of the warmth you were forced to leave behind.

Still, it’s nice to be outside. You can’t remember the last time you were allowed out – kept inside on stale lies of trouble just beyond the trees. Seasons had gone by since your last taste of fresh air.

You’re always startled by it. The distance between the inn, and the rest of the world. Out here you may as well be on another planet – miles and miles of dirt road stretching between you and the nearest town. You wonder sometimes if your aunt has always been paranoid – if she’d built her inn away from the world for her own good and not yours.

Either way you know you’re safe – as boring as that may be. No one knows where you are. Even your mother couldn’t find you if she tried. And forget about the trouble you left behind in the wake of war.

No one would ever find you here.

No one but _him._

The Mandalorian has been on your mind day in and out since his last visit. A deep, unsettling hunger burned throughout your body during cold nights – kept warm only on the fumes of fleeting memories. You mourned the chance to push the boundaries and break limits – a little harmless fun while fun was still harmless. But when he left early the following morning you hoped to never see him again.

Once was an accident. Twice could be brushed off as coincidence. But three times made a habit and to this day you’ve never seen a man break the habit of wanting you.

Having seen it happen too many times to count, you were understandably startled to see him that morning. The sound of your broom clattering to the ground -several heavy footsteps backward bringing your back against a wall – had your aunt rushing downstairs.

You could practically hear the scowl in her voice as she said _, “you again?”_

You didn’t get to hear the rest – didn’t want to either – before she sent you outside; citing a list of pointless chores to be done among the trees.

And so here you are; unable to savour your first taste of freedom in months as you pace between the shadows. The thought enters you mind for the tenth time in as many minutes.

Maybe she’ll send you away. Surely she’s too old to deal with the trouble – and you’re almost certain no one in the galaxy can play ‘ no one’s home’ quite like your mother. But you have an uncle you’ve never met on the other side of the system, living lake side on an otherwise uninhabited island.

You can’t count the number of times your mother threatened to send you away; absolutely behind herself seeing the trouble you caused each time you left the house.

You’re starting to think she made the wrong decision sending you here instead.

You feel eyes on you before you hear the crunch of gravel beneath heavy boots. Despite everything, the weight of his gaze sends a thrill down our spine and you think with just a few minutes you could make a mess of this forest.

When you turn around he’s standing several feet away – there’s a clear hesitation in his distance; apparently put off by our earlier reaction.

“Did you follow me all the way out here just to stare?” you ask, a cheeky smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

It’s like this every time. Magnetic. You know how much trouble you’re in and yet you take the next step forward.

The surrounding air is stiff and warm, but your body feels cold where his large hands would fit perfectly. You’ve never been good at controlling yourself, and as you’re standing on the tips of your toes to wrap your arms around his neck you promise yourself this will be the last time.

“You didn’t follow me all the way out here,” you search the depths of your own eyes reflected in his visor; finding nothing but mischief buried there. “Did you?”

And as his hands settle against your waist you almost don’t care to hear the answer. Then just as quick he’s pushing you away – strong hands flexing against your hips as though it’s a struggle to let you go. He takes a few steps back, and you notice the child standing just beyond the clearing.

“I’m here on business,” he says, head turned away. You feel the first pin pricks of jealousy creeping beneath your skin, absolutely abhorring the split focus.

“Can’t imagine there’s much to do on a planet like this,” you drawl.

The Mandalorian nods, but doesn’t seem to agree.

“A little planet like this would be the perfect place for a fugitive to hide.”

You feel your heart clench – your next breath catches in your throat and you remind yourself –

_Refugee._ Not runaway. Not fugitive.

You feel his gaze shift over you – taking in your every move and surely noticing the tension that’s taken hold of you. you’re about to brush it off, to draw away suspicion, but the child interrupts with an unbearable high-pitched sound.

The Mandalorian’s attention is drawn instantly down to the grubby little thing – a tree lizard caught between grabby green hands. You’re not used to being ignored, and it is quickly becoming your least favorite thing.

You lower your voice and take a casual step closer as you say; “this is a long way to travel just for business.”

The Mandalorian freezes for the briefest moment – the sight bringing it’s own kind of satisfaction – before he faces you again you hear him clear his throat before speaking finally.

“I need someone to watch the child.”

_“What?”_

You curse yourself for your lack of tact. Surely you could at least _feign_ interest long enough for it to pay off. But when the child looks up and catches your gaze, you’re certain you see animosity there.

“I usually wouldn’t do this – but it could get dangerous out there,” the pause in his words fills you with nerves – you’re not used to this; being spoken to as a _person._ You don’t know how to respond. “Can I trust you?”

* * *

“I should have said no.”

You speak out loud to the almost empty dining area, one arm supporting where you’re slumped against the bar while the other head clutches the handle of your broom.

The child is seated a top the bar, curious eyes gazing around the room while gnawing at his own foot.

“I’m not trustworthy – look at you! you can see that, can’t you?”

The child gurgles, but predictably says nothing.

You’d stayed in the forest a solid twenty minutes after the Mandalorian walked away. Absolutely dumbfounded – exactly what was he trying to play at?

It seemed the child had much the same line of thinking, as he sat resolutely in the middle of the clearing as thought waiting for his father to appear out of nowhere.

“This is _not_ what I signed up for,” you huff, blowing a loose strand of hair out of your face. Although you’re unsure exactly what you were hoping to agree to – surely there are better uses of your time.

You hear a clatter, the sound of glass shattering against wooden floors, and look up just on time to see the child teetering at the edge of the bartop. He squeals when you grab him by the cloak pulling him to safety with a scowl.

“Thanks,” you grumble, walking around the bar to assess the damage. It’s one of your aunts favorite glasses; the ornate kind with crystal flowers imbedded. She’ll be furious.

“I don’t know why he keeps you around – all you do it destroy things.”

The child tilts his head, deep eyes staring right through you. you’re sure if he could talk he’d be refuting the statement.

His flat stare says enough.

* * *

Your aunt isn’t happy to see you stuck with a child – she mutters under her breath while fixing a snack of local plants.

“He’s gettin’ too comfortable here,” she says, smiling brightly at the child while handing you the plate.

She loves children, on her good days at least. This seems to be one of them.

“Believe me, I want him gone just as much as you do. You know I don’t like to cause trouble.”

She rolls her eyes and makes to leave the kitchen, gesturing vaguely in your direction.

“Well at least keep the little one alive until he gets back.”

The child is seated securely in your lap where you’re planted cross-legged on the counter. He’s proven too good at wandering off – you don’t want to risk it. Placing the small platter aside you take a slice of something orange and offer it to him, only for him to turn his head.

“No?” you ask, taking a bit of it yourself. You move on to the next item, something slimey and green. “What about this?”

Again he turns his head, pressing his mouth stubbornly closed. You don’t mind; more for you to eat.

This goes on until the child has refused every item on the plate. He’s becoming distressed; wriggling in your grasp, so you let him go with a warning – “don’t hurt yourself; I’d like to give you back in one piece.”

You don’t imagine the Mandalorian will be willing to indulge ou if anything happens to the kid, and so you watch carefully as he toddles along the countertop – stopping to clamber up onto the windowsill.

What are you –”

You don’t get to finish your question. The child reaches up into the corner of the window; snatching up the mess of spiderweb and live spider. He brings the handful to his mouth greedily and you watch on in muted disgust until he’s finished.

“That all you got?” you ask, jumping down from the counter and onto the floor. You head over to the fridge, a plate of meat thawing out for your aunt’s dinner. “It’ll take more than that to scare me off.”

* * *

The child practically hangs off your shoulder during dinner service. He soaks up attention from barely sober men while you pour drinks and make small talk. And at the end of the night, he falls asleep in a breadbasket while you’re elbow deep in dish water.

A petty, childish part of you insists that the entire day has been terrible. Ruined by the presence of this tiny creature, small enough to fit in the crook of your elbow.

As you carry the child up stairs still sleeping, snoring gently against your chest, you think maybe it hasn’t been all bad.

* * *

You’ve been waiting for over an hour; the gentle pink of sunset having finally faded into a deep blue. Light from the rising moon hits your skin through the bare wisp of curtains. They flutter on the gentle breeze, invoking memories you would sooner forget.

You’re seated at the end of the bed, prim and proper – an illusion of who you might have been, a lie about who you really are. Contained. Sweet and docile. Wide does eyes directed towards the door – _waiting._

You’ve thought of leaving a few times. The child snores softly from inside his cot and your works is all but done. Still you wait – the taste of memories fading from your tongue.

This might be the last time you truly live.

It’s been another half hour before you hear the creak of heavy footsteps clambering up the stairs.

You have an escape route mapped out and your stomach thrills knowing you won’t ever use it. Not even if your life is in danger – you knew what you were getting in to. The excitement practically burns through your skin as the door handle twists.

“You’re still here.”

He seems surprised to see you – ironic, all things considered.

The Mandalorian looks defeated; whatever _work_ had him gone all day, has certainly taken it’s toll. He asked after the child before anything else, and you pretend it doesn’t bother you when he rushes immediately to the cot; peaking inside to make sure the child is okay,

“Thank you.”

He says it without looking at you – without bothering to turn around – and you decide to push for what you want.

“You didn’t forget about payment, did you?”

There’s a pause where you watch his shoulders tense – entire body reacting to the implication of your words.

You see his gloved hand tighten at the edge of the cot – and further up his arm you see scorch marks against shiny metal.

“I don’t know if I could afford you,” he says; a teasing edge to his voice.

You wonder how he manages to hold himself back. As you slink to your feet, you wonder why he tries.

You click your tongue in mock disapproval as you cross the room. Your footsteps are light; barely making an impact against the exposed wood floor – and yet he barely reacts when you press yourself against his back.

He’s so tall – a fact you’ve never forgotten, but the reminder sends a shiver through you – you have to stand on your toes in order to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders.

When you’re close enough you lower your voice.

“I’ll give you this one for free.”

You’re sure you hear the word _slut_ fall off his tongue as he turns to face you;; large hands perfectly bracketing your hips – and it’s something you’ve felt before of course, but the thrill is new each and every time.

“We shouldn’t do this.”

As he says this, the Mandalorian is guiding you back towards the bed.

A smile twists the corners of your lips and you say, “we don’t have to.”

Even as the words leave your mouth you know already that it isn’t an option. Not for him, and certainly not for you. there’s an awful fire clawing up the sides of your stomach. You need this. There’s no way around it – and if you were anyone else, maybe the intensity of your own desire would be frightening. As it is, you use what little leverage you have, to shift your position; so that when you reach the bed it’s the Mandalorian who ends up seated.

You stand just barely taller than him now; no power to be gained in height. His still gloved hands slip beneath your shirt, tightening around your waste and pulling you close.

“Well?” he says expectantly. You can feel his piercing gaze even beyond the visor – a challenge that burns through you. “It’s late – don’t waste my time.”

You want to bite back and say that it’s his fault – if he hadn’t taken so long to come back then you’ve have more time. But saying that would make it seem like you were waiting for him, and you’re not ready to admit that just yet.

Instead you pull back, pushing his hands away. He makes a sound like he’s about to question you but holds his tongue as you begin to strip. Thank the stars it’s summer; you’re hardly dressed to begin with and it’s easy to wriggle out of your shorts. The shirt is discarded into some corner of the room and by the time you’re standing bare – still unbearable hot from inside yourself – the Mandalorian has only just begun to undo his armor.

“Leave it on,” you say, voice as firm as you can get it.

You’ve always been easy-going.

You’ve always let yourself be taken by trouble.

You’re back in his arms in mere seconds; the weight of his fingers feeling heavier against your bare skin. You rest your hands against cold beskar and push against the Mandalorian’s chest.

“Lie back.”

He hurries to comply, and you can feel his appraising gaze all over your body.

As you climb onto the bed, shifting to straddle the Mandalorian’s hips, his hands return easily to your body. It’s like they belong there; thick fingers gripping you tight enough to leave marks against your skin.

You haven’t done anything yet, and you can feel him beneath you; half hard where he’s trapped inside his pants. He squeezes your hips just slightly when you shift to grind yourself against his growing erection. He lifts just barely off the bed; moving your body against his to further his own pleasure.

This thought sends a mix of feelings through you, a thrill of excitement burning low in your stomach. A flash of power. A terrible, terrible idea.

You grip his wrists, drag his hands off your body and lay them flat against the bed. Keeping them pinned there you lean over – thrilled by the feel of cold, hard beskar against your bare chest.

“Stay still,” you whisper, shifting you’re his against to rub your own excitement against him. The responding groan rumbles right through you. “Let me take care of you.”

You lean back, slowly letting go of the Mandalorian’s wrists – satisfied when he doesn’t move them right away.

You feel him watching you – curious eyes searching your face – waiting for your next move.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” you say, lifting yourself up on your knees. You rest your palm against his covered erection – mouth drying on memories. “Good thing you’re easily excitable.”

He shifts in response, hands almost lifting off the bed, but he stills when fixed with a pointed stare. Whatever he had been about to say turns into a moan when you apply pressure; stroking him above the pants.

_“Fuck,”_ he groans. His hips shift just slightly, and you can tell it’s a struggle not to move. “Don’t be a tease – I’ll take care of myself if you’re not going to do it.”

A cheeky smile finds it’s way onto your face – lips parting enough to reveal sharp teeth to the moonlit room.

“So impatient,” you all but whine, “You can last a little bit longer, can’t you?”

You don’t give him a chance to answer – a chance to change his mind – before you’re reaching to undo his pants.

He stays good and still for you – doesn’t so much as twitch when you get your hand around him. You hear his sharp intake of breath when you drag your hand slowly up his length – savouring the feel of it, thick and warm, and barely fitting inside the cage your fingers form.

It’s too much too fast; your mind spinning with possibilities. It’s never been like this with other’s – not the first time, and certainly not by the third. You’ve always lost interest; left your lovers in the dark. But this –

You can’t think. All but consumed by the motion of your wrist, and the obvious strain in his muscles as the Mandalorian struggles not to move. His body is as taut and hard as the armor he wears; every stroke bringing him closer to that sweet breaking point.

As you drag your thumb slowly over his dripping cockhead – so wet already, you think gleefully it must have been a while since he was able to get off on his own – you wonder if he thinks of you when he finds himself alone. Have you been on his mind like he’s been on yours?

Is that why he came back? And will he keep coming back?

The thought frightens you just a little, and you hear him hiss under his breath when your nails catch against his skin.

So maybe it’s a little scary. You can’t stop the hunger raging through your body – you’ve never been able to control it; that’s the problem. And maybe you’ve have to move away if he keeps finding you here. You’ve never liked it on this planet anyway – the few good times you’ve had were spent on your knees in pantries or bent over tables; at the mercy of trouble.

Anything else, you hate to think about.

You stop moving – take a moment to breath and remember how to hold your tongue. Beneath you, the Mandalorian’s breaths are coming out ragged. His hands still pressed to the bed; gloved fingers scrunched up in the covers.

A sly smile creeps easily onto your face and you lean forward to keep your voice quiet.

“Lovely as this is, I think I want a little more.”

You speak as though you’re not in complete control right now – as though you might have to _beg for it._

He raises his hips just slightly; jostling you where your still raised on your knees. You give one last slow stroke; following the motion of his hips before pulling your hand free. As you rise back up, you lift your cum slick hand towards your face for appraisal. You can’t help it – a mixture of mischief and desperation leading you to lean in, dragging the flat of your tongue across your dirty palm.

You barely hear the sound he makes; a bitten off curse acting as white noise to the feeling that rushes right through you at the taste. A groan rumbles low down your throat and you barely remember to make eye contact as you swipe your tongue along your lower lip.

You maintain eye contact with yourself, reflected in his helmet, as you spit into your pal,. You make a show spreading the mess between your fingers, before reaching behind yourself to where our body has been craving touch.

The Mandalorian’s hands come up to grip your hips, and he rises just a little – trying to pull you down in the same movement.

“Let me help.”

His voice is just a breath of air. Light. Desperate. He’s losing his patience as fast as you’re losing your mind.

Your eyes are fluttering as your first finger prods against your greedy hole. This won’t be the first time you’ve touched yourself here – and not the first time with an audience – but as with everything else so far, there’s an extra thrill because it’s _him._

A gentle laugh leaves our chest as a puff of air as you begin to apply pressure.

“you’d only get in the way.”

You let out an exaggerated sound when the tip of your finger slips in – you play it up; arching your back and closing your eyes as a gasp parts your lips. His hands tighten around you, but he does nothing more and so you let him keep this added freedom just for now. You’re quick with the preparation, always preferring a little edge to the pleasure. The feel of your own fingers stretching inside yourself, is nothing compared to the burn of a thick cock tearing through you. but as you continue to work – quickly pushing a second finger in alongside the first – the sound of pure frustration that escapes him is more than worth it.

He’s beginning to move you; guiding our hips forward into a shallow rocking motion. And beneath you his body is shifting too; the wet tip of his cock smearing against your inner thigh while he breathes out obscenities.

You want to condemn him – to shame him for being impatient and greedy. The thought of having your body used simply for his own pleasure only serves to stoke the need already trembling through you.

_“Oh.”_

The sound is forced out of you when you push the next finger in too soon. There’s the barest bit of pain before you’re grinding back into your own touch; forcing you fingers in deeper until you bottom out at the knuckles.

“That’s good,” you goran, fucking yourself on your own fingers, _“Fuck -_ can’t wait to get your cock in me.”

The Mandalorian’s hips stutter, and his fingers are surely leaving bruises against your delicate skin. You’re sure if he had his way he would pin you down and drive into you, until you forget how to breathe

“Do it then – stop wasting my time.”

Your body tenses; fingers brushing just the right spot as his voice rumbles through his chest. You keep yourself pressed there; toes curling as you rub the same spot over and over.

You could finish like this – make a mess all over his shiny armor. You could steal our own pleasure and walk away to let him deal to himself.

You consider it for a moment; just for the pure chaos. You consider it, but the howling beast in your stomach would never let you walk away empty.

You’re almost right there at that edge when you pull out; body all but screaming at the loss. You pry the Mandalorian’s hands off your body and press them flat against the bed.

“Stay still for me,” you repeat softly.

He stops moving completely – for a moment you think he’s stopped breathing.

You can feel the strain in his thigs when you wrap your hand around his cock again – the struggle to stay perfectly still for you.

“I’ve been thinking about this, you confess, as you lower yourself to accept his cock, it’s every bit as big as you remember, and you’re trembling before the wet head even touches your hole. “Every night since you were last here –”

You’re not ready for it; even as he lifts his hips to press himself closer against you. you’re not ready for it to be over – as long as it hasn’t started, you can have an eternity, just like this.

Just like this.

You want to know if he’s been thinking about you. you want him to say it – want to hear him confess that he’s going out of his mind; to know you’re not the only one. But if he says it then he’ll have to leave – you don’t give him the chance to ruin everything.

As you begin to sink down you can’t help but bite into your lip; just the pressure of his thick cockhead pressing against your greedy body is enough to have your mouth watering.

For a moment you’re worried it just _won’t go in_ – the thought fills your chest with hysteria and you almost lose yourself to it. But then our body is giving way; opening up to accept him and you almost lose your balance when he breaches you.

_“Oh fuck.”_

The words fall off your lips like poison and you think for one startling moment that you might be the one becoming obsessed.

The feeling of euphoria burns right through you; shooting up your spin and spreading like fire through your body until your every thought is consumed. Without even realising it you’ve pushed down all the way; accepting the Mandalorian’s cock into our body in one fluid motion.

At this angle you’re sure you can feel it – can _taste_ it – at the back of your throat. Your knees ache where they’re now flat against the bed, and your hips are pumping in small, back and forth motions – only serving to drive him deeper.

Beneath you, the Mandalorian has his hands clenched in the bed sheets. His chest is moving rapidly and you can hear his ragged breaths beneath he helmet.

“Wasn’t expecting that,” he says. You don’t feel his eyes on you any loner, but you can feel the subtle movements he makes; unable to keep himself still any longer.

“Couldn’t help it,” he stretch our voice out into a needy whine, lifting your hips slowly. “I want it so bad – _please,”_ your voice cuts off into a gasp as you drop back down, fucking yourself on the Mandalorian’s thick cock. _“Fuck me.”_

Immediately his hands raise to our hips and you let him lift you almost all the way off his cock before slamming you back down. You let him repeat the motion over and over – pressing his hips up into you with every downwards pull – using your body to chase his own completion, while bringing you rapidly closer to your own burning edge.

When you feel his movements begin to grow sloppy – his thrusts _long_ and _deep_ – you wrap your hands right around his wrists. A flush of power shoots through you when he lets go of your hips immediately, and allows you to push his arms up above his head.

_“Please,”_ the word leaves your parted lips as a mere breath of air. You continue to lift your body, bouncing back on his cock even as the Mandalorian has gone completely still. “I can’t take it anymore,” you whisper, still managing a sly smile even as your vision is starting to blur at the edges.

“What do you need?” there’s a bit to his voice and he tests your hold against his wrists – stays still when you don’t give way at all. His body is moving against you again; every clumsy thrust pushing into you hard enough to have you seeing stars.

This is it – this is what you’ve been wanting. And you don’t care if you get sent away after this; every second worth more than the last.

You can hardly think – can’t form a single coherent sentence in your mind. Your voice comes out an endless stream of _“Please, please, please.”_

And he tries to give you what you want; but he’s close to losing it too. All he can do is drive into you and hope it’s what you both need. He doesn’t move his hands this time when you release his wrists, and you finally feel the burn of his gaze against your skin as you take yourself in hand.

Your own touch is like fire and it spreads from our fingertips right into your veins. It only takes a few quick strokes before you’re spilling hot and messy – making a deliberate mess all over his shiny armour. Your body draws right and you might actually _scream_ as orgasm hits you – aftershocks of pleasure keep hitting you until the Mandalorian drives in one final time; wetting our insides with his own spill.

When you collapse forward, he catches you in a near soft embrace. You’re exhausted and heavy, you don’t even think about leaving the room.

It’s when your vision is going dark and his fingers find their way absently to your hair, that you speak in solemn tones.

_“You have to stop coming here.”_

**Author's Note:**

> i have at least one more of these fics in me so lets hld out for that
> 
> hit me up on tumblr @softdramahoe i hardly ever post anything but i still like to chat >:3


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